Ten Stories
by Azrael's Addiction
Summary: Ten stories of Remus and Sirius. Challenge. RLSB
1. Blue Sky

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**Ten Stories**

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_Introduction to the Concept:_

I felt guilty about the sad nature of The Letter, so I decided to make it up to my readers by doing a challenge. The challenge is to put one's iPod on shuffle and use ten songs as prompts for ten stories. So here they are, my ten prompts:

Blue Sky by The Allman Brothers Band

Blue Boy by Orange Juice

Something by The Beatles

The Guns of Brixton by The Clash

When You Were Young by The Killers

The Ballad of Danny Bailey by Elton John

In the Morning by Norah Jones

Wonderwall by Oasis

Deep Inside of You by Third Eye Blind

and

The Refugee by U2

Enjoy.

* * *

_**Blue Sky**_

_You're my blue sky, you're my sunny day._

_Oh, lord it makes me high when you turn your love my way,_

_Turn your love my way, yeah._

_--The Allman Brothers Band_

* * *

It was a gray morning. Tendrils of pink rose over the horizon like the rosy fingers of a child. A light sheen of rain sprinkled across the Hogwarts grounds, casting everything in a murky gray light despite the sun's valiant effort to raze over the clouds.

Sirius sat outside in the rain, tears mingling with the ran that fell along his jaw. He took a deep breath in, trying to steady himself. It wasn't the end of the world. He'd always known his parents hated him almost as much as they hated blood-traitors. In their eyes, he was a blood-traitor. There was no need to spill tears over something as slight as a nasty letter from home. In fact, it was almost blasphemous to cry over their words. Traitorous.

He felt more tears brimming in his eyes, this time out of self-loathing. He shouldn't cry over something that he'd promised himself he didn't care about.

_I don't care._ He told himself firmly. _I honestly could care less if those bastards despise me. I don't care, I don't care..._

But he did care. He hadn't intended for them to ever find out about him and Remus, he knew that the consequences of his homosexuality would be dire...for him as well as Remus. So it'd been his plan to keep their romance a secret until he was finally rid of his family. Then, he'd let himself rub it in their faces. Flaunt his affection for Remus and show them how happy he was with him. How much better off he was.

Regulus had ruined that plan.

He'd seen Remus and Sirius kissing in the hallway after hours, and of course the little brute had told their parents. The letter that had followed had been, well, vulgar to say the least.

_Sirius Black,_

_I will not waste a Howler on such an impertinent, lowly, unmitigated fool such as yourself. You are to rid yourself of this mudblooded faggot immediately. Your brother tells me he is your dormmate. I will remedy this issue immediately with your Headmaster. You are not to speak to this disgusting little slut again. No excuses. The whore is obviously only trying to pleasure itself using you as a vessel. It is not fit to lick the bottom of your boots, nonetheless find itself bedding with the boots' occupant. That is not to say you are worthy of anything, you bloody faggot. When you return to this household this summer, you will not escape any consequences for your loathesome choices. This is not acceptable. You are to marry a pureblood _woman_ may I remind you. You are not to mention this to your father, understood? Good._

_Never forget that although you may be a Gryffindor, you are a Black first. You can escape your obligations, but you cannot escape your blood._

There was more, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to read it.

Sirius crumpled up his mother's note to him and threw it across the lawn. "I hate you, you hear me?" he screamed so loudly his throat ached, but the wind picked up his voice and carried it away. "I hate you!"

"Sirius?"

Sirius whipped around, striking whoever had come up behind him with the back of his hand. "What the fu--Oh, Remus. Oh, oh! I am so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Remus didn't even flinch. "No, of course not. I'm fine. Are you alright?" His cheek was turning a nasty red in the shape of Sirius' hand.

With a nod, Sirius tried to compose himself, but failed miserably. He collasped into Remus' chest.

"I--I...they...what they called me...what they called _you..._I'll never. Oh, god, Remus..."

Remus ran comforting circles around Sirius' back. "Shh, love. Shh, it's alright. It's going to be alright."

"They said I was disgusting. That I wasn't fit to be a Black."

"They don't deserve you, Sirius. You know that."

"They said you were a slut."

"Have I ever slept with anyone but you?"

"They said you didn't love me."

"What do they know?"

"They said that you were just with me to sleep with me."

"I'm with you because I love you."

"They said--"

"Love, you know they're wrong. They're idiots, and you don't ever have to believe them. Because they aren't ever right. Remember that."

"But...I'm one of them."

"No, you aren't. You know how I know that?"

"How?" Sirius' voice was vulnerable, hurt.

"Because every morning, my heart aches until I see you. Your face is my sunrise, your smile my light. I love you."

"But..."

Remus kissed him slowly, gently. His healing kiss. He carded his hands through Sirius' hair and murmured softly into his ear once he'd broken away from him. "But nothing. They are nothing compared to you."

Sirius held Remus tightly to him, never wanting to let go. "Remus?" he asked weakly.

"What, darling?"

With Remus he felt warm, safe. Happy. With Remus, the world was beautiful and the sky was blue. Everything was perfect when Remus' love touched him. Everything. "You're my blue sky. Never go away."

"Sirius, you're my everything. I couldn't leave you. I'd never want to."

The sun shifted behind the clouds.

* * *


	2. Blue Boy

* * *

**_Blue Boy_**

_He won't be listening to your secrets,_

_He won't be listening to your lying tongue,_

_He'll be listening to the words being sung,_

_Like a Blue Boy._

* * *

He threw Remus to the floor, eyes flashing. "You shouldn't be touching him, slut." Remus' nose collided with the floor with a crunch.

_Damn, _he thought, _that's broken for sure._

"If you haven't noticed," he said, spitting blood out of his mouth as he spoke, "the touching is mutual." He propped himself up on his elbows, chin tilted upwards towards Regulus.

Regulus' eyes sparked with fury. "You are," he spat between gritted teeth, "Lying."

Remus smiled through a bloody nose. He wiped across his face with the heel of his hand. The blood smeared across his cheek. "Fortunately, I'm not. But you're welcome to feel as you wish."

Regulus flicked his wand with a razor curse and Remus' lower lip split in two. "Sirius told me all about you, whore. That he's just fucking you for the hell of it. You're a toy to him. Nothing but a distraction from his shite life."

"Perhaps," Remus' amber eyes remained neutral. Infuriatingly so. "I am mistaken then. The other day he informed me that he loved me. But perhaps that's just the orgasm talking."

Regulus raised his wand again, but before he could send another curse Remus' way, the lycan's wand was out and had repelled the wand.

"Regulus--"

"You aren't fit to utter my name. You know what else?"

Remus sighed, "What else..._Regulus_?"

"I saw my brother snogging the Riverside boy in the hall yesterday. Full out snogging. How does that make you feel, faggot?"

Remus' resolve sunk a little. "Clint Riverside?"

"The same."

Remus bit his lower lip and contained his hurt. It wasn't true. Regulus just knew that Sirius had cheated on him once with Clint and was exploiting that. "A good lie, but a lie nonetheless."

"Not a lie. Go ask your boyfriend," he spat the word like a curse, "if I'm right. He'll lie, but look into his eyes. You'll see the lie for sure."

Remus straightened and dusted off his robes. "You're bluffing."

"As are you, with false confidence."

"If anyone's confidence is false, it's yours."

"Lies," hissed Regulus, "All you Gryffindors think you're so brave, but really it's fabricated confidence."

_Better to feign confidence and persevere, than slither away like a cowardly snake._

"I think our conversation is over, Regulus. Good day."

"Go to hell, Lupin."

"As long as you aren't there, Mr. Black, I'll find myself quite comfortable."

* * *

Remus returned to the dorm to find Sirius sitting on the bed, reading a book for Muggle Studies.

"Hey, Remus?" Sirius said without looking up. "What's an ah-cow-stick goo-tar?"

"An acoustic guitar? It's a musical instrument." He headed towards the bathroom to wash his face. "Kind of a mellow sound. You'd like it."

Sirius nodded and flipped the page. Then looked up suddenly. "What? No kiss?"

Remus smiled, but didn't turn around, instead kept heading towards the loo. "You won't want to kiss me now, love."

Sirius huffed in indignation and scrambled from the bed. "I always want to kiss you." The book clattered to the floor and he grabbed Remus' shoulder.

"Sirius, don't--" But it was already too late; Sirius had turned Remus around.

"What the--What happened to you?" He touched Remus' broken nose gently, bringing a wince across Remus' face. "Did you fall down the stairs or something?"

"Something like that." Remus lied airily, and tried again to go to the bathroom and get the blood off his face. But Sirius held him tightly.

"You're rot at lying, Moony. What happened?"

Remus balked. "I just had a bit of a run-in with a Slytherin."

"Bloody vipers. Who was it? Snivellus, I bet. The scum, I'll kill him."

"No, no. Just..."

"Just who, Remus?"

Remus wiped under his nose again. Some of the blood was getting into his mouth; it tasted rather rank. "Your brother." He turned away quickly, trying not to cause a fuss.

"Regulus? What'd he do, throw you from the Astronomy Tower? You can take that runt."

"No, he just caught me off guard, that's all."

"I'll kill him."

"No, you won't. He's your brother."

"I'll kill him in a slow, tortuous manner."

"Sirius..."

"Corkscrews, Remus. Corkscrews and very blunt letter openers."

"Sirius, stop this."

Sirius cupped Remus' face and ran a slow thumb over the blood pooling under his lip. "He hurt you."

"Not really," Remus looked down uncomfortably, something gnawing at the edge of his sanity. "May I go wash my face now?"

"Yeah, of course." Sirius said, releasing Remus' face to knead his knuckles.

Remus smiled and shook his head. "You aren't going to do it."

"No, of course not."

* * *

That night, Remus had a nightmare.

Clint Riverside had been there, tongue between Sirius' teeth, loathesome grin on his face. He'd broken away from Sirius, smirking at Remus. "Once wasn't enough, Lupin." He'd told him. "Let me show you how to really please a man."

Sirius was panting, reaching for Clint with desperate fingers, pulling him back. Pulling, begging, pleading in a way he'd never begged for Remus.

And then it hit Remus: Sirius had never loved him. He was only waiting for something better to come along.

When Remus woke up breathing heavily and sweating, so did Sirius--seeing as they shared a bed.

"Mm, nightmare?" Sirius slurred sleepily. His well-bred accent shone through the carefully constructed Northern English he was attempting to create to fit in better with his friends. "You alright there, love?"

"Yeah," Remus said quietly, trying to supress the brimming tears. He nestled into Sirius' chest, trying to convince himself that Sirius did love him and not Clint. "Can I ask you something, Padfoot?"

Sirius woke up to his nickname. Remus was wont to use it when he was particularily upset. "Sure, anything."

"Have you kissed Clint since...that last time?"

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. "You had a nightmare about Clint and me?"

Remus nodded, turning away in humiliation.

"Of course not, darling. And you know that I didn't mean to...the first time. It was--"

"An accident, I know."

"Why would you think I'd do it again?" Sirius pulled him close again and ran his hands through Remus' hair. Almost all of Remus' doubt floated away in those loving fingers.

Almost.

"Something that Regulus said, is all."

Sirius growled low in his throat. "What'd that git say?"

"That he saw you kissing Riverside the other day...Gods, Padfoot. Was he telling the truth? Please tell me. I won't be mad." He looked up to Sirius who had a steely look in his eyes. He wasn't looking at Remus, rather up at the ceiling.

"I would never hurt you again, Remus. My brother was lying." His eyes darted down to Remus. "Do you honestly think I'd do that again?"

Remus simply bit his lip. "I don't know, Sirius. I'm just waiting for you to find something better, s'all."

Sirius kissed his forehead. "Never." He kissed Remus' jaw, his temple, his eyelids, his lips. "It'd take more than one horny bloke to tear me away from you."

"What would it take?"

"Death. Only death can pull me away from you."

"I should've never believed Regulus."

Sirius hummed in agreement. "His tongue only lies, love."

* * *


	3. Something

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**_Something_**

_You're asking me will my love grow,_

_I don't know, I don't know._

_Stick around, and it may show,_

_But I don't know, I don't know._

_--The Beatles_

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* * *

_

Dear Remus,

I don't know why I'm writing this to you. You're mad at me and therefore not talking or listening to me. I probably won't even send this, for your rejection grows tiresome. And I can handle a fair amount of rejection.

I hope that makes you feel guilty, Remus.

I'm not going to apologize again. I'm not. I've apologized profusely and there's nothing else I can do. Besides, that disgusting git deserved it. He's a nosy twit and doesn't know when to keep his large schnob out of our buisness. I only regret I was there to see his greasy face.

Not-apologetically,

Sirius.

* * *

Dear Remus,

I didn't mean that. I really didn't. I shouldn't have done what I did and I am sorry. So sorry. I just...

I miss you.

I'm used to talking to you about what I can't talk to james about. I just...I miss you so badly, Moony. And I'm angry. At you, but mostly at myself.

Please, please respond,

Sirius.

* * *

Sirius,

Remus owled me. Said you sent him a letter. Here, I'll include his letter here.

I'm sorry, mate.

James

James,

How is your summer going? I've a lot of post from Lily. She called you an arrogant berk, but she used your first name. I thought you'd find that encouraging.

I'd love to spend the summer hols with you, but unfortunately I'm terribly busy in July, and since you're vacationing in August, I'm afraid that won't work. Too bad we didn't plan something in June, yeah?

I will not let you copy my potions essay. You'll have to do the reading yourself.

On the side, please owl your friend (don't be coy with me, you know who I'm talking about) and tell him that I'm not mad at him. I just can't talk to him right now. Tell him not to owl me again.

Yours,

Remus

* * *

Lupin,

James forwarded me your post.

What gives you the right? I will bloody write you when I very well feel like it. If I say I want to write to you, I will write you. Understood?

What do you want from me anyways? I've done everything possible and you're still being a prat about this. I made a mistake and you're still punishing me for it. I'm not the fucking half-breed here.

Black

* * *

I didn't mean it, Remus. God, I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have sent it. Please, please, I didn't mean it.

Sirius

* * *

Remus, please. I talked to James. He said that you haven't been owling him or Peter. Just tell me you're alright. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm just asking for the reassurance that you're okay. Please, if not for my sake, for James'. He's really concerned.

* * *

Sirius,

There are reasons why wolves have teeth before their tongues.

R.L.

* * *

Remus,

Sirius left his parents' house. He's here and in bad shape. I think you should come see him. He keeps crying for you. And you know he doesn't cry. Please hurry. I know you're upset, but this should be worth more than a feud.

James.

* * *

Remus shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and stared at the door to the Potter residence. His brow was furrowed over itself and he sighed deeply. In all honesty, he was painfully unable to go in there.

_Sirius needs you, you idiot. You can't forgive him?_

It wasn't a matter of forgiveness, actually. When it all came down to it, it was a simple matter of trust. Of how Sirius viewed Remus. To Sirius, Remus was nothing but a werewolf. A dark, mischevious game.

And that hurt. A lot.

Remus wasn't very proud. Any pride that he had left had been stamped out by hatred and bigotry. He's been a victim of himself for so long, he'd lost any respect for himself. He was both a villian and a victim. No one can respect themself for that.

And yet, it hurt. Hurt to be betrayed by someone whom he had trusted. Loved.

Loves.

Remus bit his lower lip. Who could say where this would lead? All he knew was that he still loved Sirius, and he couldn't leave him to suffer in his pain.

Holding his breath, Remus knocked on the door.

He was quickly ushered in by a frantic James, who looked beyond himself with worry.

"Remus. Oh thank Merlin. I thought you wouldn't come." He pulled Remus through the door and started to peel off his cloak for him. "Sirius is upstairs in my room. Brace yourself, mate. He's in a right state."

Remus felt lightheaded with the flurry that was James' loyalty to Sirius. Mere days ago, James was so upset with Sirius, they were barely on speaking conditions. But James would always remain faithful to Sirius first. Remus understood this.

Cautiously, he ascended the spiraling staircase that led to James' room. He turned the corner and slowly opened the door.

There he was, curled on the ground. Head resting on the floor, knees loosely pulled to chest and hand fisted before his face. Sirius didn't even look up. "Go away, Lupin."

Remus sat down next to him on the floor and kneaded his knuckles again. "But I don't want to, Padfoot."

"I ran away. My parents hate me. You hate me. I've lost everything."

"I don't hate you." Remus stared down at his toes.

"Oh, yeah?" Sirius reached up and fisted Remus' hair, bringing his face inches from Remus'. Remus looked down submissively. "Then why won't you look me in the eye?" Sirius gave an extra tug on Remus' hair.

Remus' eyes flickered upwards, but were forced down again. "It hurts too much, Sirius."

Sirius dropped Remus' head. He sat up to cradle his head in his hands. "Forgive me."

Remus ran his fingers through Sirius' hair. "I already have, mate."

Sirius shook his head and gave a cold, bitter laugh. "I love you, Moony."

"You aren't very good at showing it, Sirius."

"Stay with me and I promise I'll do better."

Remus kissed his head, but did nothing more. They sat in silence and waited for the tears to stop.


	4. Guns of Brixton

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**_Guns of Brixton_**

_When they kick at your front door,_

_How you going to come?_

_With your hands on your head_

_or on the trigger of you gun?_

_--The Clash_

* * *

"Moony, Moony, please wake up."

"Wha--"

"They're coming. Aw, Jesus, Moony. They're _coming_."

Remus whipped at his eyes. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Sirius whispers hurriedly, "The alarms I set up just went off."

Remus can see the fear and panic in Sirius' wide gray eyes. They beg him, silently, completely, _Don't let them get me, Moony. Please, don't let them send me back. Please._

But Remus can't respond because if they're really coming, then they have to be very quiet. So he says with his eyes, _I won't let them get you, Padfoot. You're never going back._ He reaches for his wand and levitates the bed a few feet off the floor. He then pulls back planks of the floor and Sirius slips into the space betwixt the foundation of the house and floor. Remus replaces the boards and the bed, then slips into his bed, feigning sleep.

A heartbeat later, there is a knock on the door. Remus ruffles his hair and untucks half of his pyjama shirt before ambling to the door, stilling his heartbeat as he walks. When he gets to the door, he opens it with a falsely sleepy look on his face. "Wh-what's going on?" He feigns a yawn.

The ministry officials--a tall dark man and a petite brunette woman--shoulder past him. The man hits a bruise left over from the full moon and Remus winces, but masks it quickly. "We're here on a tip that you may be housing a Sirius Black here."

Remus' face curls up in disgust. "Black? You mean that conniving bastard who killed the Potters?"

The dark gentleman gives Remus a look of disbelief, and for a moment Remus worries he's over-done it, "We have information that tells us you were once a comrade of Sirius Black's."

Remus snarls. "Aquaitance is more like it. He schmoozed with everyone, the cocky wanker." He feels dirty as he says these words.

"No need for language," says the brunette, pacified by his contrived contempt for Sirius Black, "We just want to make sure he isn't here. Your neighbors say there's been some talking in this house."

With a forced blush, Remus bows his head. "I'm a bit lonely, you see, and...erm..."

The brunette gives him a fabricated piteous look and hums in her throat. "I see. Well I'm Penelope and this here is Rasheed."

The man gives a curt nod, "May we take a look around?"

What his voice implied was _We can and will take a look around, whether you like it or not._

Remus shrugged. "Go ahead, I'll be in bed, if you need me. I've got an early morning tomorrow and I--"

Rasheed raised a brow. "Wouldn't it be best if you came with us?" _If you don't come with us so we can determine your expression, there will be trouble._

Remus attempted to seem nonchalant. "Okay, Mr Rasheed, but I do hope that we can be efficient."

Penelope smiled, "Of course. Just a quick sweep around the house."

A quick sweep turned into a two hour venture around the house and a polite thirty minute tea afterwards. Remus served them cups of chamomile, not wanting to give them Earl Grey for fear the caffeine would keep them longer.

"So any leads as to where he is?"

Rasheed frowns into his cup. "None, he seems to have disappeared."

Penelope nods, equally perplexed. It was evident they had expected to find Sirius lounging in Remus' livingroom. Keeping the pair out of his bedroom was simple: as soon as Remus gave the smallest allusion that he might be homosexual, they steered clear. Especially Rasheed.

"Like a fox," she agrees, "Impossible to catch even though it's so bloody close...excuse my language, Mr Lupin."

Remus smiles thinly, his patience wearing thin.

Rasheed drains his cup and hands it to Remus. "I think we should be going now. Sorry for the bother."

Remus shakes his head, grateful, "Not at all. I enjoy the company."

He hadn't meant it flirtatiously, but Rasheed took it to be _I fancy the pants off you, come again_ and all but bolts from the house. Remus chuckles and waits until they are at a safe distance from the house until he goes back to the room.

He quickly peels back the boards to reveal a very uncomfortable Sirius Black. "What took you so bloody long? Gossiping, were you?"

Remus helps Sirius up and slips into bed, damned tired. "No, but I had to invite them for tea. They'd think I was hiding something if I ushered them out of the house."

Sirius sighs, but slides into bed next to Remus. He was still a bit tense and as a result, nestles close to Remus. "Them?"

Remus nods against Sirius' downy hair. "A lady and a gentleman. Both insufferable."

Sirius chuckles humorlessly, already falling into sleep. "Don't let them get me, Moony."

Remus smiles and closed his eyes. "Never."

Softly, Sirius presses a kiss against Remus' neck. Remus returns it with peck in his hair.

_You can crush us_

_You can bruise us,_

_You can even shoot us._

_But--oh Guns of Brixton._

* * *

_Author's Note: It's short. I had little with which to work. My dog is trying to eat my foot. My girlfriend is bored and nibbling on my ear. The next chapter will be better. I promise._


	5. When You Were Young

**

* * *

**

When You Were Young

* * *

_You sit there in your heartache,_

_Waiting on some beautiful boy_

_to save you from your old ways,_

_you play forgiveness,_

_watch him now, here he comes._

_--The Killers, "When You Were Young"_

* * *

Sirius sits on the edge of the lake, his feet bare and his toes barely skimming the water. He smokes a cigarette, and the smoke from the fag mingles with his misty breath. He hasn't smoked since he left Grimmauld Place, so he's out of the habit of swallowing one's breath and producing the clouded exhale of decay. He coughs into his fist, but his next breath is used to suck on the cigarette some more.

He first started smoking to impress the girls; complete his "bad-boy" image. Then he did it to relieve stress. Over the summer and the holidays, he'd get up to three cartons a day. After a while he was just plain old addicted. But when he moved into the Potter's house, he didn't need the extra comfort.

But now he was seventeen, halfway through his final year at Hogwarts, ready to leave the warm cocoon of the Potter family, and absolutely terrified. The last time he'd felt so insecure, so vulnerable, so naked was just moments before leaving the Black house forever. It was a certain cold chill of not knowing. Similar to the winter freeze that enveloped him now, only worse.

Sirius was going to train as an Auror, that much he knew. He'd considered being a medi-wizard, for Remus' sake, but the idea of being cooped up in St. Mungo's scared the shit out of him. He knew he was going to buy a flat in London, somewhere dirty and gritty and cheap. He was sick of the plush silk and fine couture, he wanted to live the life of a street-rat.

Other than that, he was unsure. It looked like James was definitely going to marry Lily any time now, judging by the way the two of them got on. Once Lily had wormed her way into James' life permanently, there was no telling where Sirius and James' friendship would be. It used to be brothers before everything else—now it seemed that Lily took priority.

Sirius was happy for them, he really was. James had wanted and loved Lily for as long as Sirius could remember. He was finally happy, and Sirius should have been too. It was just difficult to lose a brother, especially one who made up so much of his character. Without Potter, Sirius was just a Black. And that scared him.

Peter has plans to move in with his family until he'd finished internship at the Ministry. The Pettigrews had connections to a lower branch of the Ministry, so Peter was guaranteed a job there. The loss of Peter, although painful, was a different sort of fear for Sirius. Peter had always been there. Always. Sort of like a throw-away friend: someone he could rely on for company, but didn't constitute any real sort of bond. He was a comfort. Like the wind pressing against the glass at night, a subtle reminder of your own safety.

Remus—well, he didn't even want to think about Remus.

Sirius plunges his feet deeper into the water, a stinging numbness shoots around the arch of his feet. The cold almost burns. Sirius lets out a low hiss, relishing the pleasure-pain. One on hand, it feels as if his toes would break off if he were to curl them. On the other, it is all he can concentrate on.

Sirius sucks in another toxic breath, and it momentarily pulls him away from his frozen feet. The curtain of pain pulls back to reveal thoughts of Remus lurking behind. He involuntarily wonders what the boy is doing at the moment.

Frustrated, Sirius bites down lightly on the fag so he can free his hands, and wiggles out of his cloak. His arms are bare beneath the heavy wool and goose flesh spikes up in ridges over his arms. He whignes softly under his breath as a shiver rakes through him.

It is not enough; Remus' disapproving face appears in his mind's eye. That wrinkle appears between his brows and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip.

The feet plunge farther into the water, sending icy shocks up his calves and thighs, and Sirius is about to slip into the icy abyss completely when he feels a hand—searing in its warmth—on his shoulder.

"Sirius, what are you doing?"

Sirius closes his eyes and breathes in a deep stretch of smoke. He removes the fag, lets out a languorous exhale, and stamps it out before answering. "Hey, Remus,"

Remus, being who he is, sits beside Sirius. "Cor, Sirius, you must be frozen," he reaches behind Sirius for the cloak, and his chest is against Sirius' shoulder. Against his will, Sirius inhales his scent. He smells like Remus: musky, refined, and perfect. Remus pulls the cloak around Sirius' shoulders, but the cooled cloth clashes with his skin and he shivers again. "Why don't we go inside where it's warmer?"

"Dun'wanna."

Sirius receives a skeptical raised eyebrow, but nothing more. Instead, Remus tugs out Sirius' legs from the lake, sets them on drier land, then palms around his pockets for his wand. "Bugger, I forgot mine. Do you have yours?"

Sirius numbly shakes his head.

With a sigh, Remus scoots over so they are hip to hip. He tucks Sirius' bare feet under his folded knees, stretches his cloak over both their shoulders. They are pressed so close together that they have to breathe in sync or their ribcages would grind together. The thought of anything of Remus' grinding against him makes Sirius blush furiously.

"What are you doing out here anyways? It's the dead of December and the wind blows coldest over The Great Lake."

Sirius shrugs his shoulders, which is a mistake because it causes friction between their arms and Sirius burns even hotter. Suddenly he isn't the pleasant numb that he was before—every nerve end is on fire.

"You were smoking." It was not a statement. It was a prompt.

"Yeah."

"What was upsetting you?"

There was no compromising with Remus at this point. Remus knew when to butt out and when to pry—this was a moment for a remake of the Spanish Inquisition. "It's our seventh year."

There is a beat between them when Remus is quiet, expecting more. When none comes, he murmurs, "Alright."

"James is going to marry Lily, isn't he?"

"I'm not sure, Sirius, but it seems that way, yes."

Sirius heaves a heavy sigh. It is crystallized immediately and drifts into the Scottish winter fog. "He'll have Lily, Peter'll have his enormous family, and I'll have nothing."

Remus' eyes are angled towards the ground. He doesn't say it, or even represent it in his body, but Sirius has hurt him.

Carefully, in the measured tone he always uses when he's being logical, Remus says, "James is your brother in all but blood, Sirius. No matter what you will always have him. As for Peter, he worships you and James like some sort of deities. You three will stay intact," he pauses and adds, "I promise."

He hadn't intended for the subtle removal of himself to be so emphasized, but Sirius heard it with excruciating detail.

Sirius is quiet for a long stretch of time before he quietly murmurs, "What are you going to do, Moony?"

Remus tenses. They haven't used their nicknames in a long while. No one knew why, it just fell out of practice. But that wasn't why he tensed. Sirius knew it was because the Marauders had made a silent vow to never ask Remus what he was going to do after Hogwarts. They all knew: he had no options.

"I," Remus clears his throat, "Well I…"

"Do you have any ideas for work?"

"I'm, well…I don't really qualify for non-academic work, so…" Remus runs his hand through his hair as he tends to do when nervous. "I'm still considering my options."

"Ah," then he asks the question that no one had dared ask, "Where are you going to live?"

Remus flushes a brilliant scarlet, "Sirius, this isn't going to help your mood—"

Sirius jerks away and faces Remus dead on. He's all but sitting on Remus' lap and his nose is a few inches away from Remus'. "Where are you going to live, Remus?"

Remus looks down, and his voice catches like cotton on a thorn. "They've always got centers open for those without…erm…a steady income, and I…well, it's an option until I manage to find a job of sorts…"

Sirius rolls off of Remus, he'd anticipated this answer. He makes a brief sound of disgust and sees Remus wilt slightly. "You'd really live in a shelter before you came to one of us?"

Remus sits straighter. "I don't leech off my friends. It wouldn't be…"

In the next second, Sirius is standing and towering over Remus, who continues to look at his shoes. "I _asked_ you to move in with me, Remus." He kneads his forehead with his fingers. "We were going great, even better than Prongs and Lily, then you go and say _no_. What the fuck did you do that for, Remus? What, we can have sex, we can spend every waking hour together, but once we move in together outside of Hogwarts, it's too far? Too much commitment?"

Remus shakes his head. "It's not that, Sirius."

"Then what the hell is it? What the fuck is wrong with moving in with me?" Then, quieter, more vulnerable, "I thought you loved me."

Remus still doesn't look up. "I do."

"Then why not move in with me?"

"Sirius, it's more complicated than just where I sleep…"

"I told you, I can swing rent. My Uncle Al—"

"It's not that."

Sirius sighs and sits back down, his fit of rage gone. "Then what is it?"

Remus looks away and his graying fringe falls into his eyes. "Sirius, I'm a dark creature. I'm already going to hell. I don't…" His voice catches completely on his throat and he's unable to finish.

Sirius gathers Remus' hands in his. "What's this about, Moony?"

At his long abandoned nickname, Remus turns to Sirius. Sirius can see that Remus is deeply tormented by this something. "I'm damned, Sirius. I don't want you to be too."

Sirius blinks once, twice. "You…you wouldn't move in with me because you didn't want to damn me to hell?"

Remus nods.

"Well that's great!"

Remus stares at him.

"I mean, I thought…cor Remus, I thought you didn't want me anymore. You can imagine what a relief this is."

"Ah yes," Remus says bitterly, "because what is hell compared to a lack of my affections?"

Sirius laughs and presses a kiss against Remus' protesting lips. "You're not going to hell, Moony."

"Oh?"

"No. You're going to move in with me, and things will be okay." Another kiss. "I promise."

"But what if…"

"If we do go to hell then at least we'll be together."

Remus is about to protest, but is silenced by another kiss. Remus allows the logic to lie there.

* * *

_They say the devil's water,_

_It ain't so sweet,_

_You don't have to drink right now,_

_But you can dip your feet in,_

_Every once and a little while._

* * *

AN: For those of you who read The Letter, something tragic has happened, I cannot access the document. That means I cannot update it, even though the chapter are there. Does anyone else have this problem? If so, please tell me how it can be remedied. Otherwise, I'm sorry, the story is on hiatus.

* * *


	6. The Ballad of Danny Bailey

* * *

**The Ballad of Danny Bailey**

**

* * *

**

_Born and raised a proper, I guess life just bugged him,  
And he found faith in danger, a lifestyle he lived by  
A running gun youngster in a sad restless age._

_--The Ballad of Danny Bailey by Elton John_

* * *

Sirius didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't regret it of course, Harry's life was more important than his. To have died for a cause he believed in…that was how Sirius wanted to die.

Die. Well, this wasn't exactly death was it? It was a total state of omnipotence. The ability to shift noiselessly, invisibly, and intangibly from space to space. Distance, state of being, even time were mere frames that Sirius could flip through. Hogwarts could just as soon be Grimmauld Place, and it could be the literal presence or something far more figurative.

As far as Sirius could tell, so far, the only limit to his travels was the duration he remained in each frame. He could shift through any part of the world he wanted, but the conditions he remained there were varying, almost random. One minute he could be watching his godson fall in love with the Weasley's girl, and the next he'd be witnessing the actions of a Severus Snape.

It mattered not how badly he wanted to stay, or leave, it didn't matter whether the scene was pertinent to him, he was powerless to be an observer.

On one level, he appreciated it: it allowed him sketches of his loved one's lives and gave him a tendril of hope that he might return. Though Sirius had been more free spirit than responsible adult, he did die young. He had wanted more life than what had been given him.

In another sense, it was etching away at him. Sirius was always a doer. When Remus needed friends, Sirius became an animagus. When Peter had betrayed the Potters, Sirius had hunted him. Sirius was someone who lived as freely and as dangerously as he wanted, but now he was forced to simply regard the happenings of the world. Frame by frame. Like a slow presentation of wizarding photographs.

He felt utterly useless.

Especially when some universal force pulled him to images of Remus: Remus after Sirius had fallen through the veil; a snapshot of Remus holding his wand to his throat, but unable to mutter the killing curse he so longed for; the long, bittersweet montage of Remus' romance with Tonks; and, of course, the full moon. The lonely, friendless, full moon.

It was difficult to watch Remus trying to fall in love again, it was harder to watch Remus curl up on the floor cradling the memory of Sirius, it was murder to watch Remus dream of Sirius only to wake to his bitter reality. But it was nearly impossible to witness the full moons.

Sirius would be forced to run as the wolf with Remus. Forced to watch, wordlessly, as man became beast. If Sirius had felt helpless as Padfoot trying to contain Moony, he felt like utter dust in this new form.

But, as Albus always pointed out, hope was always there.

As inaudible, as impalpable, and as unreal as Sirius was—he could swear that Moony could smell him. It sounded crazy, he knew it, and Sirius was sure that Remus didn't even remember it come morning. But every now and then Moony would lift his head and smell the air. He'd growl that Moony-growl that Remus sometimes made when they were in bed together, and Sirius knew—he just knew—that in some form or other he was still alive with Remus.

But then, just as soon as Remus seemed to recognize his presence, Sirius would be torn away—either to an unrelated scenario, or a flashforward to another chapter of Remus Lupin's life.

The worst was when it made the sharp transition between Moony's low rumbling growl, to the gasps of "Dora" when she and Remus made love.

Made love was one of the kinder reflections of Sirius' un-mind. Fucking seemed too cruel to Remus, but sex was just plain _wrong_. Sirius would have torn his eyes out if he had them.

Remus never did things with Sirius' cousin the way he did with Sirius. It was always strictly missionary and proper. With Dora, Remus couldn't be Moony. He could only be Professor Lupin, and no other. Quiet, reserved, and always always alwaysalwaysalwaysandforever in control.

It was true that Remus cared for her, Sirius saw that much. He saw it when he looked at her pleasure-stricken face with a gentleness he reserved for those he truly loved. Sirius saw it when Remus would brush the hair from Dora's forehead and say her name. Like a favored pupil. Almost like a prayer. Almost.

But he knew that the love Remus had had for him, for Sirius, was different. It was a fiercer, more poignant, more rewarding love. Sirius realized this when Remus came. After many years of shagging in the dorms and then later in their flat, Sirius had come to understand the many expressions of Remus Lupin. And when Remus had that look in his eyes of pure, unadulterated confusion—yes, confusion—was when he had reached his highest point of pleasure.

Remus was at his freest when he didn't understand. When he still had that childhood wonder that had yet to be jaded by overstimulation and bigotry. When he was still able to appreciate the world without understanding it. That was Remus.

And Remus would murmur Dora's name, like a prayer. But in his eyes was sadness, in his eyes was exhaustion. This was Lupin as he had become. But when a lover could peel away the layers and layers of protection, of fear, of age—it revealed Remus. Just Remus.

Dora made him feel young. Sirius made him feel real.

Sirius watched this. Watched as Remus was torn apart by responsibility, war, and himself. He wanted to be there, wanted to make this tired werewolf into the boy that Sirius knew he was. It killed him. Both of them. In the end, literally.

And when Remus and Dora lay in the aftermath of the battlefield, eyes blank but smiling, Sirius was finally able to let out a gasp of relief and move on from his state of un-being. Remus was free, and so was a part of Sirius' soul.

Sirius, or his soul, never lost its restlessness. Part of it, at least figuratively, was passed on to Harry—the wildness, the bravery, the rashness. But the other part twined around Remus'. A quiet reminder that nothing was truly over.

* * *

_Author's Note: Well that turned out...different. I cannot write true angst for the life of me. I think it's because this is pure escapism, and I like my escapism to be as far away from my own life's tragedy as possible. When push comes to shove, we all just want to reach a form of happiness._

_Happy Dostoevsky's Birthday, by the way. The bastard should be one hundred and eighty by now. Lucky fucker._

_(For those of you who read The Letter, patience. I have to all sorts of techinal shite to sort things out. It shouldn't affect you, if things go as promised you won't even notice. But I don't trust technology. It's coming, I promise.)_


	7. In the Morning

* * *

**In the Morning**

**

* * *

**

_Funny how my favorite shirt  
Smells more like you than me,  
Bitter traces left behind,  
Stains no one can see._

_--In the Morning, Norah Jones_

* * *

Remus sits in front of his typewriter, smoking a cheap fag and squinting through his reading glasses. His fingers march for a few lines, then stop—stuck. He used to write poetry with an ostrich quill and take breaks for tea in between. He used to smoke a pipe. He used to spend a few furious moments scrawling out a heart-driven poem, finish with a flourish, and then be ravaged by an impatient Sirius. Remus used to write silly little poems on his wrist or on Sirius' thigh when they were in bed. Little couplets like:

Had you been the Night, and I been Day

I would have longed for your shade to stay!

and

Lip to lip, like lovers do

and hip to hip until we're through!

Which Sirius would respond with a dirty limerick such as:

There once was a bloke name Moony.

We all found him a bit loony.

He went by Remus.

He had a big penis,

And it makes me all swoony!

Funny how silly things like that, little flashes of inanity cause the memory to force us into insanity.

Now Remus writes essays and short stories and the occasional novel on a type writer. It is generic. It makes a high pitched whirring sound that Remus' lupine hearing cannot tolerate. It is different, and that's what matters. Remus also smokes fags and drinks coffee. Both of which leave a foul taste in his mouth, but he likes them. Because they are different.

Under the pen-name of Sydney Warsh, Remus writes horrid and garish romance novels. Burlesque little bits of shite that make for a steady income, although he hates writing them. His ostrich feather quill hasn't seen the light of day for years. Not since Sirius went to Azkaban.

Every now and then a neighbor will drop by to see how Remus is doing. They are muggles, kind and caring things, and they bring him meat pies and Yorkshire puddings. They are old and they pity him. Many of them recognize a jaded, depressed bachelor and they want to ease the pain.

But Remus never eats the pies or any of the food they bring him, because he doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to do anything but smoke and drink and wither away into nothing. He's already halfway there: when he stands bare before his quarter mirror, he can see his ribcage as clear as if it were out of his chest. When he presses hard enough, he can feel his spine through his vertebrae. That's how Gogol died: starved in front of his book case. Remus would like to go the same way, except he sold all of his books so he could keep the apartment. As much as Remus would like to get rid of every semblance of Sirius' existence: he can't give up the apartment.

So Remus types and types until it's nearly one in the morning and the couple next door are fucking loudly, but Remus doesn't mind because he wants them to make love while they can, and Remus is on his eighth carton of the day because goddamnit, the smell of cigarette smoke is the only thing that can compete with the odor of Sirius--Sirius in his clothes, in his hair, in his sheets, in the curtains, and on Remus' very skin--Even though Remus washed the flat a hundred times over, scourgified every inch, and washed and rewashed every scrap of cloth in sight, even though Remus all but scraped off his skin trying to scrub Sirius away, and even though everything of Sirius' is in a box in the back of the closet because—god help him—Remus can't get rid of all of Sirius; he can't bring himself to do it.

Remus realizes he's stopped typing and decides to call it quits for the night. He finishes up his cigarette as he bustles through the fridge to find his tray of ice blocks. Although Remus doesn't allow himself to eat or drink much, he does indulge himself in ice blocks. He jokingly calls it his "Cigarette and Ice Diet", although it gets less and less funny every time he thinks it.

He pops three into his mouth, simultaneously smoking and crunching on the ice, and finds his way through the dark flat to his bed. He lights a candle with his wand so that when his fag has expired, there's still some sort of scent to cover up Sirius. Remus finishes his fag and is tempted to extinguish it on his own flesh, but he doesn't. He's a masochist, but isn't pathetic enough to do blatant harm. Dumbledore still checks up on him from time to time, and he would never disappoint his former headmaster. As long as someone still needs him, Remus will be around.

The sheets are cold when Remus slips into them, and Remus tries not to think about how they used to be warm back when Sirius was a lover. Back when Sirius was the man Remus knew him to be.

Remus nestles into the pillow, slowly counting in his head to lull himself to sleep. If Remus makes it to two thousand and fifty without falling asleep, he allows himself to take a potion. He tries not to if he can help it. He smells Sirius on the bedclothes, but tries to convince himself that the scent of the candle is stronger.

(I)(n) (t)(h)(e) (M)(o)(r)(n)(i)(n)(g)

An owl taps noisily at the window. Remus rolls over towards the left side of the bed. "Pads, can you get tha—" Remus stops himself before he goes too far. Every morning he has to do this, he has to tell himself that Padfoot is dead. He was killed by Sirius Black.

Remus pulls himself out of bed and opens the window. The screech owl clamours through the room, dropping Remus' edition of The Daily Prophet and his post.

Remus takes the bundle to the kitchen and fixes himself a cup of coffee. He makes two: one for himself, and one for Sirius. He sets Sirius' cup across the table at the empty chair, and settles himself down for the morning news. When he unfurls The Daily Prophet, his heart stops.

There, on the cover, older, crazier, with longer hair and a more angular face, but definitely, undeniably him—Sirius Black. The headline is but a blur as Remus stares at it. The manic face of his once lover grins into the lens, laughing hysterically. Remus makes note of a fresh medley of bruises and scars as well as the long, scraggly hair. It isn't the man he fell in love with—but it is the man. He knows what it means: Sirius has escaped.

Remus' heart flutters and his throat seizes up. He cards his hands through his hair and fumbles for his carton of cigarettes. He flips through his other mail. Mostly adverts and bills, until he comes across the elegant script of Albus Dumbledore:

_My dear Mr. Lupin,_

_I have no doubts that, by now, you have received news that Mr. Black has escaped Azkaban. You will, I'm sure, be comforted to know that Harry is in safe hands at the moment and will be protected from any mishaps that may come his way._

_However, you are shrewd enough to calculate that this is not the reason for my epistle. Indeed, I have another matter of importance to ask you. Our previous Defense against the Dark Arts professor has predictably abandoned his post at Hogwarts. I seem to recall that you have a talent in that subject and have always been patient with those who are learning. In short, Mr. Lupin, I am here to offer you a position as professor of Defense against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Special measures will be taken for your condition, and you will receive a typical teacher's salary._

_I hope that you are well and that you will consider my offer._

_Signed,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Remus stares at the letter, somewhere between disbelief and shell-shock. He manages to stumble over to his type writer and begin his response.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Although I am quite flattered by your consideration of me for the position, I am afraid that my condition would not make for good teaching. Also, my presence at Hogwarts may be distressing for Mr. Potter because_

Remus stops, a thought rattling loose in his head, and starts over.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Thank you for your letter. I would be honoured to take the position. Please send me the details of my housing, criteria, and general terms of profession. I think it would be best if Harry Potter is not aware of my relationship with his father or Sirius Black. It would allow me to keep a more thorough eye on him and give him more adequate protection against Mr. Black as I am sure will be part of my presence at Hogwarts._

_Yours,_

_R. J. Lupin_

Remus stares at the letter, trying to convince himself that he's not accepting this job merely because Sirius Black might try and attack Harry Potter. He's not doing it to smell Sirius' scent again. He's doing it because what he's doing here; writing romance novels and smoking himself to an early grave, is pathetic. He's not still in love with Sirius black. He's not.

He's not.

* * *

_I can't stop myself from calling  
Calling out your name.  
I can't stop myself from falling,  
Falling back again._

* * *

_Author's Note: Quite honestly, I'm not really fond of this song. It has a lovely sound, but it's lyrics are terribly cliche. As a result, it was difficult to stray away from cliches while remaining true to the prompt._

* * *


	8. Wonderwall

* * *

**Wonderwall**

**

* * *

**

_And all the roads we have to walk along are winding,  
And all the lights that lead us there are blinding,  
There are many things that I would  
Like to say to you,  
I don't know how. _

_Because maybe  
You're gonna be the one who saves me ?  
And after all,  
You're my wonderwall._

_--"Wonderwall" by Oasis_

_

* * *

_

Remus, in a word, does not like his job. He does not enjoy moving boxes in a warehouse that are too small for the forklift, but much too massive for a regular person. His employer Marcus, god bless his soul, hired him under the pretense that Remus could speak three different languages in addition to Standard English. But Remus knows that Marcus is turning a blind eye to his lycanthropy and let him have the job out of pity. Remus is strong, this much is true, but no wizard in his right mind would hire him for manual work. Despite his wolfish blood, Remus was slight and frail looking. He was not a warehouse man for he had the distinct appearance of a scholar.

Sirius accused Remus of looking malnourished and pallid. Quite frankly, both accounts were correct. Remus had a taste for meat—rare, very, very rare to the point of bloody—and not much else. Sirius was a good Brit and liked his meat cooked with vegetables. Remus hasn't the heart to ask Sirius for a nice slab of cold meat, so he guiltlessly stomachs whatever Sirius makes (under the assumption that they are not eating take out that evening). As for the sun, Remus has not patience for it. It's lovely…when viewed from indoors. Besides, Sirius with his gothic colouring and protruding ribcage has no right to talk.

"Where ya headed afta this, boyo?" Marcus helps Remus set the enameled chest down in the corner of the warehouse.

Remus straightens and his back beats out of lovely tattoo of popping joints. "Probably home; I've a shower and a meal waiting for me there."

Marcus grins and reveals his overcrowded mouth of yellow teeth. "Got a missus lined up?"

Remus unrolls his sleeves so that he can wipe the sheen of sweat off his forehead with his cuff. "No sir, just my mate, Sirius. We went to school together and he's one of the few that can tolerate me."

Marcus chuckles, "I can' imagine ya bein' too much a ruckus, Lupin." He laughs for a moment, enjoying the idea, then sis face goes solemn for a long moment as he absently rubs his scruffy hands together. "Ya know, Lupin, ya've been one o' my best lads. Real hard workin' an' all, an' a lot o' us really like ya...but the others…they've got a feelin' 'bout ya and they en't…well, they're uncomfortable like ya see…an' I tried ta speak ta them an' all, but they're stubborn ya see an'…I don' mind if ya are, but they're threatenin' an' all..."

Remus had already shuffled through his pockets for his identification card. "It's alright, sir. I understand. I appreciate what you have done for me already."

Marcus looks grateful. "I'm real sorry, Lupin. Like I said, great lad…'s a shame, really…I'll owl wha' I owe ya within a week, yeah?"

"Thank you for telling me, sir. And I appreciate the paycheck," Remus gives a warm, if not sad, smile, "There've been times where I haven't been paid at all."

Marcus wrings his hands. Some of the other workers are clustering around the warehouse doors and their eyes put pressure on Marcus. The man quickly pulls out a galleon and a couple sickles, presses them into Remus' hand, and walks away."Well, ta, Lupin."

"Goodbye, sir." Remus apparates with a pop.

* * *

"You want me to top you off, dear?"

"No, s'alright. Can I get something stronger?"

"Brandy?"

"Whiskey."

"Alright, dear."

This was Remus' third job this month. The first one was when a brief stint as a book clerk, but customers had been uncomfortable with Remus' deep scars, bruises, and general undead appearance—so he'd lost that job. The second had also been in muggle society as a waiter, but Remus had started the job just before the moon and had to skip a night, costing him the job. They were barely out of school and already Remus had failed. He'd let Dumbledore down. He'd let his friends down. He'd let the lycan society down. He'd let Sirius down.

Remus couldn't come home to tell his lover he'd lost yet another job, yet another paycheck…he couldn't. So instead, he finishes his whiskey, pays with a fiver, and makes his way to the nearest wizarding community.

* * *

There's a dull roar in the oversized basement punctuated by occasional animalistic snarls and the high keen of a person in pain. Remus muscles his way through the ring of observers and towards the list. He scrawls his werewolf registration code in the tiny box and looks at his opponent. He doesn't recognize the series of eight numbers, but in all likelihood it's someone he knows.

Remus has participated in these underground fight clubs long enough to know most of the other lycanthropes. He has been since the summer of his fifth year. The only difference between the scared little boy and the jaded young man was that the young man could hold his own in a ring.

If the red lines crossing out numbers are any indicator, he's one round away from his own. He strips his shirt off and rifles through his pockets for the bandaging tape he keeps for his job at the warehouse. He won't need it anymore.

As he makes his way to the barbwire ring, he wraps the tape around his hands and stretches his neck. The current round features a heaving, sweaty werewolf with ripped trousers and his counterpart--a lithe girl wearing trainers. The larger werewolf manages to wrap his meaty hands around her shoulders and toss her into the barbwire. She flips over it and it tears into her skin. She collapses silently outside the ring and he is proclaimed winner. The crowd, which is mostly composed of gamblers, bigots, and werewolves, goes into an uproar.

The girl doesn't move from her position on the ground.

Remus' turn.

His number and his opponent's are called and he slips under the wire. It grazes his back, but not enough to draw blood. The familiar prickle of silver sparks at his nerve ends: the hosts are sure to keep plenty of it around in case things get out of hand.

Another man with dark coloring, red hair, and overdeveloped muscles steps easily over the fence. Remus has seen him around at the Department of Magizoology, and believes his name to be Udolf, but he cannot be sure. Udolf peels off his own shirt and rocks his head from side to side. He doesn't make eyecontact with Remus.

Remus palms his own fist and waits for Udolf to make the first move.

It doesn't take long, the brute lunges for him immediately. He's half mad with desperation and Remus can tell they are there for the same reason: to be destroyed.

The thought is oddly unifying and Remus pauses just enough to allow Udolf to get a good hit in. Remus dodges the next one, but isn't fast enough to avoid Udolf's slash of unkempt nails. Other fight clubs Remus has been to have certain rules--no filed nails, no weapons, no teeth, etc--the only rule of this one is that if someone ends up dead, the killer has to get rid of the body. Werewolves go missing all the time; it's rare for someone to get charged for murder because of an underground werewolf fight club.

Udolf's nails leave five perfect lines across Remus' face, but Remus waits sedately for Udolf to make another move. Remus is good at dodging and waiting until the opportune moment. They make a jerking circle around the ring before the ginger werewolf loses patience and pounces with all his force on Remus.

Remus slides out at the opportune moment and digs his knee into Udolf's back. Udolf twists around and seizes Remus' thigh before he can leap away. They fall to the ground and bite and claw and snarl and rip until Remus' face and torso are a mashed pulp and Udolf loses consciousness.

For a second, Remus' mouth hovers over Udolf's submissive throat and he considers sinking his teeth into the chorded flesh and tearing it out. Udolf's pulse is insistent and inviting beneath his tan skin. The edge of Remus' canine brushes Udolf's pulse point.

But the second passes and Remus rises to his feet. He heaves Udolf over his shoulders, climbs out of the ring, and deposits him into the crowd. Galleons and Sickles are passed around and the holler of more bets choruses around the circle for the next round.

Remus can't find his shirt, but he's too tired to look. He goes home half naked and half dead.

* * *

It's late when Remus gets home. Sirius is sitting in the kitchen worrying his knuckles and chewing his lip. He's staring at the space between the muggle clock and the wizarding clock; not really looking at either, but watching for any movement. When the door closes behind Remus, Sirius immediately stands, grinning. Then he sees his lover and the smile disintegrates on his mouth.

Remus' lip is split and bleeding; he has a bruiser that encompasses most of his left face; his knuckles are raw; a chunk of his ear is missing; his thumb is crooked at an odd angle; and distinct claw marks stretch across his face, arms, and torso.

Sirius' hand twitches towards Remus, but he stops himself. "You lost your job."

Remus nods, intent on not looking at Sirius.

"Which—which club did you go to?"

Remus looks up into Sirius' pale eyes, not wanting to tell him which one. It takes Sirius half a second to realize what this means. His fist reels back to connect with Remus' stomach. Remus lets out the faintest of gasps and his knees buckle. Remus braces himself for the floor, tensing the right muscles so his head won't collide with the floor.

But Sirius catches him and gathers him against his chest.

Sirius' face is in Remus' neck, his lips pressed against the mash of street burn and blood. His hands are around Remus' waist. His grip is too tight and he's breaking open the cuts in Remus' side.

"You're an idiot." He murmurs, but he's holding Remus and that's all that matters in the end. "An idiot. You're so fucking smart and never screw up, but when you do you really screw up. Why didn't you come home? Ulriche Lowell was killed there last week, you know that right? They found her body in a dumpster, you know that? You did and you went there anyways. Why didn't you go to the muggle one on Quartely? I love you fucking idiot. The bloody clock has been drifting between Danger and Traveling for the past three hours. I've been killing myself trying to figure out where you were. I was going to go out and find you if you didn't come home within the next five minutes. Why didn't you come home? I love you. You're an idiot. Don't do it again. I love you."

Remus hurts all over and he doesn't know where his next paycheck will come from or for how long Sirius will put up with him, Remus doesn't know why Sirius is still with him, or why he can't seem to trust that Sirius will love him no matter what, he doesn't know when this perfection will end, but he knows that while Sirius is with him, it doesn't matter.

* * *

_Author's Note: I actually have been to a fight club before, but never one in England--so you'll have to excuse me for inaccuracies. It's not a place I'd like to return to regularily._

_Also, I would like to thank whomever put this story on the RemusSirius_Goldmine community. If I were any more feminine I would have squealed from delight, but since that's rather unmasculine..._

* * *


	9. Deep Inside of You

* * *

**Deep Inside of You**

**

* * *

**

_When we met light was shed,  
Thoughts free flow,  
You said you've got something  
Deep inside of you ._

_These secret garden beams  
Changed my life so it seems.  
A fall breeze blows outside,  
I don't break stride, my thoughts are warm  
And they go deep inside of you._

_And I never felt alone,  
Till I met you._

_Friends say I've changed,  
I don't listen 'cuz I live to be  
Deep inside of you._

_**--**Deep Inside of You by Third Eye Blind_

**_

* * *

_**

I cannot remember a time when I was not in love with Remus Lupin. I can remember I time when I hated Remus; I can remember a time when I feared him; and I can remember a time when he was the haunt of my worst, most vindictive, desires.

But all the while, I loved him.

Moony—rather, Remus—is the type of person one couldn't help but like from the minute one met him. He's intelligent, unobtrusive, strangely charismatic, and above all—amiable.

That bloke...he is made of different material than the rest of us. Stardust, perhaps.

For example, I remember the first day I saw Remus Lupin. On the train to Hogwarts, when we were small eleven year olds, some Slytherins were pushing him around. Once they'd finished, he simply gathered his books and gave them a small, almost menacing smile before shuffling into an abandoned compartment.

James raised an eyebrow at me and jerked his head towards the freshly closed door. That was a boy we had to befriend.

As we grew to know him, we grew to love him—but not understand him.

Now, after spending eight years in his company, I'm still not sure I understand Moony. He's a paradox disguised as an enigma guarding a labyrinth of secrets.

Peter and James, they could care less what Minotaur crouched behind each turn of the labyrinth. When we realized that Remus would disappear for odd hours without any sort of adequate explanation, they were willing to disregard it.

"Prolly has a bird stashed away somewhere," Peter said offhandedly to make James laugh.

But I'm a creature of curiosity. I went into the labyrinth blind and found not only a Minotaur in Daedalus' labyrinth, but Daedalus himself. See, Remus had built his own prison to conceal the beast that lay beneath human skin. His maze was so intricate, so complex, that no one could possibly find their way into the center…or out.

He hadn't reckoned on me.

The thing about Remus is, despite his best intentions to keep me away, his distance only succeeded in making me want him all the more. It didn't matter how terrified I was of him, for how long my parents had coached me to hate his type, or the almost violence with which he avoided us: I wanted to know him.

All of him.

By my third year, I was fascinated. By my fourth, enamored. By my fifth, I was so head over heels I couldn't tell up from down. In my sixth year, when I caught Remus staring one time too many, I was ecstatic. By the end of the year, I had Moony sleeping in my bed and when we graduated we lived together.

It was a slow process. Remus had to be coaxed out of his protective shell and into our sheild of friendship. Then he had to lose some hesitancy, some control which he clung so tightly to in order to let himself love me.

I know it was hard for him. So hard to allow himself to feel and hope and _love_ without pulling away out of sheer instinct. I know that under any other circumstances it would have been impossible. And I am so angry for that. I was so angry with him for all of my fourth and fifth years because he couldn't just let himself _be_. Anger turned to hate and hate to vindication.

I wanted to make Moony lose control. I wanted to break him and heal him all at once. I wanted to turn his skin inside out and watch every secret spill to the floor. I wanted to gather those secrets and throw them away like dandelion blow and I wanted to gather the empty shell of Remus to fill it with myself.

I wanted him to be utterly destroyed and broken at my feet and I wanted to be the one to rebuild him. _Me_ and no one else.

I realize how selfish this was, and I'm sure Remus realized what I wanted from the beginning.

I think it makes me love him all the more.

I didn't break him. I didn't turn him inside-out and carve myself into his soul. Instead, he managed to burrow deep inside of me. Like oxygen on an inhale into my blood stream.

But I never wanted to breathe out.

Happiness had never gripped me so tightly. It was like when I was younger and found the long, white feather of a seagull wing. It was the whitest thing I've ever seen—it nearly glowed with its purity. Remus was that feather. He was so perfect and so lovely and so mine. It was odd to think that—odd to think that after so many years of friendship, we'd crossed the tenuous line that separated us and…

Sometimes, when we are lying in bed, Remus will curl his fingers against my chest and press his face into my neck. He will take a deep inhalation, obviously smelling my skin. Remus thinks I don't notice, but he lets out a long, quiet sob whenever he does this.

I know why. He's smelling me.

I must smell so human to him. He makes note of this aloud from time to time, especially when he has to visit the Magizoology department. He likes it, my human smell, of that I'm certain.

What he doesn't like is his own lycan scent. It scares him. Makes him want to run away. I've known Moony long enough to know that he considers it; running away, that is. Thinks that it'll benefit me. He's come close to doing it before, so painfully close.

Moony's subtle, he doesn't want to make it look like he's leaving me. He'll allow female coworkers to tag along to parties, or introduce me to gay blokes he thinks I'll like. I see him seize up whenever he does this; nervous that I'll like them.

Nervous that I won't.

I never do, if you were wondering. I know I have a reputation for being flightly, but I'm anything but. Even if I was, I wouldn't leave Remus for them.

The girls he produces are too serious, the boys too buoyant. I tried telling him this once. Tried to tell him that he was perfect, so perfect, for me. That I liked the way the morning illuminated his prematurely graying hair. That I love his faint smell of strawberry tea and the woodsy smell of Moony. That I love his rough laugh almost as much as I love his smooth chuckle. That I need his gentle and hesitant touches as much as I need the needy grasp he keeps on me in bed. That I need him. Need him, need him, need him.

He didn't believe me, of course. Moony is, and will always be, Moony. So I let the parade of inferior matches march past me. I mind it from time to time, but I think it gives Remus a comfort of sorts to know that I'd prefer him over the pretty blonde he met at a book store or the muscled motorbiker he used to work at the dock with. I'd rather spend a thousand full moons with a vicious, angry werewolf than one with someone I don't love.

And there it is. There, right there, it is.

I say it over and over, but every now and then it hits me and I'm caught off guard completely. It sends me for a loop around the equator and rockets me up to Venus and back.

I think I've always loved Remus Lupin. Before, I was hollow. And after, I was me. I wasn't Sirius Black before I loved Remus Lupin. Which is strange, considering Remus doesn't even love himself.

If I could slip into his skin and show him how much I love him. If I was so deep inside him that we were one and the same, maybe he'd love himself as I love him. Maybe.

And I remember once, and only once, I convinced him to love himself for a few moments.

Tt was just before we were about to graduate from Hogwarts. We were in my bed, which is my idea of perfect happiness when Remus is in it, and he'd fallen asleep. The moon had fallen at the beginning of the week that month, so he had the entire weekend to fret about the change and compensate for the school he was about to miss. It was Sunday night, when Remus was closest to the werewolf, and he had been refusing sex all evening.

"I'm too volatile, Padfoot. I don't want to put you in that..erm…position."

So I settled for devouring him with my eyes. I leaned on the triangle of my elbow and surveyed his sleeping form. Remus almost always dreams during his sleep, so behind his thin eyelids his eyes darted about. His lips were parted, though he was breathing through his nose, and his limbs were twitching slightly. I imagined he dreamed he was running (he has that dream often). Every now and then a low growl or a high pitched keen would reverberate through his throat and I'd drink in these little losses of control. Each noise, each flicker of his eyes, and jerk of his arms pooled behind my eyes. Before I knew it, I was crying.

I don't do that often, I'll have you know. I don't. Remus will do it from time to time out of frustration or when he thinks no one is around. But I don't cry.

And I was sitting there like a right sod, running a thumb along his jaw and loving him so fucking much and wanting so badly just to burrow into him and never leave, to make myself a part of him so that he'd never leave _me _and I wanted so badly to just be…something...

And he woke up.

His eyes found mine immediately, like a magnet, and before I could change my expression—he caught me.

For a moment, and this is the moment I'm talking about, he realized that I loved him. And I saw it. A bit, just a glimmer, of self-adoration.

And then in disappeared and he went right back to hating himself. But I know that I was inside Remus' labyrinth that night. I know that I met the Minotaur and broke off a piece of myself to give to it. I know. And that's enough.

Remus still sobs against my chest sometimes, especially after we've had sex, and he still spends long afternoons staring at his reflection. I still find small silver scars where he thinks I won't find them and he still tries to convince me of his inherent evil.

But I know, I know that I'm a part of the labyrinth now. Even if the Minotaur hides from me, and Daedalus' white seagull wings failed him and killed his son, I know that I'm deep inside of Remus somewhere. Loving him.

Someday I hope to show him that he's deep inside of me too.

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note: I don't write from Sirius Black's point of view very often. Mostly this is because I understand Remus very well and rarely understand Sirius at all. However, circumstances placed me in what I felt to be a very sympathetic situation with Sirius._

_This story is actually rather dear to me. I don't ask this often, but if you do not like the chapter, please don't tell me. I know it's flaws and I like them where they are. I will take your critique elsewhere gladly, but this is special and rather difficult to pen. Emotionally._

_Again, I appreciate all of my readers. Recently, I've been getting exponentially more of them. While this confuses me, it also causes me great joy. Thank you._

* * *


	10. The Refugee

**The Refugee**

_

* * *

_

_I see your face  
I see you staring back at me  
Wa--War..._

_--"The Refugee" by U2_

* * *

Remus fell into his desk chair, the hard wood bit into his back unpleasantly. He heard the definitive crack of his joints as he stretched and yet again he was reminded of his age. He rubbed an ink-stained hand over his forehead and looked down at the pile of papers he had to grade.

His first year class was just beginning basic stunning spells and he'd assigned an essay last Monday. Another heap of papers detailed advanced protection spells and yet another was on vampires. He ran his hand through his hair before rummaging through his things for his pot of red ink.

He pushed past a collection of Emily Dickinson's poetry and a copy of his fifth year's text book. He could find black and blue ink, but his red pot was missing.

Remus sighed and got out of his chair, joints protesting the movement. He got down on his hands and knees to look under his bed. When he's located the rogue ink, he jerked up and hit his head on the bed frame.

Moaning in pain, he slipped from underneath the bed dizzily. His vision blurred and he stumbled against the wardrobe that housed his sample boggart.

"Bugger." He muttered tiredly when the doors flew open to release the boggart.

He unearthed his wand, ready to mutter a "Ridikulus!" and banish the conjured moon.

But no moon appeared from the wardrobe. In fact, nothing happened. The doors swung loosely on their hinges until falling halfway closed.

Remus raised an eyebrow. He didn't know how the boggart could have escaped without his notice, but he supposed weirder things had happened. "Damn, I don't know where I can get another one…"

He reached out to close the wardrobe doors again, hand connecting with the mahogany, when another pale hand curled around his.

Remus gasped and jerked away from the wardrobe, trembling so hard that he dropped his wand.

The hand withdrew into the wardrobe for a moment before reappearing to open the door.

And Sirius Black was there, grinning.

He wasn't the Sirius Remus had seen in the Prophet, manic and unkempt. Nor was he the Sirius of Remus' youth.

He was the Sirius that haunted Remus. The one that appeared in his dreams and flashed across the faces of strangers when Remus let his mind slip. His hair was too long, reaching as far as his jaw and brushing into his eyes. He had his same aristocratic nose and too full lips. The same sparkling eyes and half-teasing smile.

Sirius brought a hand up to his chin in a mock-observant gesture. His eyes ran from the crown of Remus' head to his toes, pausing at his chest and crotch.

"Christ, Moony." He mumbled lowly, and took a step towards Remus. "You're all old and shit."

Remus' jaw came unhinged.

"Not that it's unattractive or anything, Moony. You're still sexy as fuck. You've just got that whole professor thing going for you now."

Remus managed to relocate his cowering voice. "You aren't real."

Sirius laughed, that barking carefree laugh, and moved even closer to Remus. "Aw, Moony, I missed you."

Remus just stared.

Sirius brought up a tapered hand and ran it across Remus' jaw-line. "You finally managed to grow some stubble, Moons. I'm proud."

"You aren't real."

Sirius ran the hand from his jaw to just behind his ear where a small piece of cartilage was missing. He tugged on Remus earlobe playfully before bringing his hand to the nape of his neck. "C'mon, Moons. Don't tell me you haven't missed me too." He pulled Remus forward and slipped his tongue into his mouth.

Remus jerked away, panicked. He hurriedly stumbled for his wand which had rolled towards his desk, but Sirius' foot was there first.

Remus looked up.

"Say it, Moony."

Remus rose to stand, but was shaking as he did so. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sirius grinned and this time Remus was unable to suppress a half-aroused shudder. Sirius' smirk only grew. "Say you missed me, Moony."

Remus shook his head. "I didn't. I don't. You—you're not real. You're a boggart."

Sirius—or rather, Sirius' boggart—raised an eyebrow. It tilted its head in an extraordinary copy of the real Sirius. "You still missed him."

"No, no I didn't. He killed everyone I had in the world." Remus was desperate now. His wand was trapped under the boggart. It advanced towards him, pushing him against the wall and prohibiting him from escape. "I hate him."

The boggart ran a long-fingered hand down Remus' chest, unbuttoning his oxford as it went. It laughed. "Didn't stop you from loving him, though, did it?"

Remus was going to say no, until it kissed him again. This time it coaxed Remus' mouth wide open and simply devoured him. Remus could taste Sirius on this boggarts faux-tongue and could feel Sirius' hands run over his skin, under his shirt, under his trousers. He moaned and kissed back. Sirius—it—moved its hands behind Remus and lifted him into its embrace. Remus tilted his head back so far that the crown of his head touched the wall behind him. Sirius' boggart took that opportunity to move its mouth from Remus' mouth to his neck, sucking on Remus' Adam's apple as Sirius used to. It pulled Remus higher and Remus allowed his legs to wrap around Sirius' hips.

A low chuckle rose in Sirius' throat and it moved down to bite at Remus' nipple. "Good, yes?"

Remus could only manage to groan.

"What was that about not missing me?"

Remus didn't answer.

Sirius licked down Remus' exposed, concave stomach. Lower, lower, so low he almost…but then he stopped. Tantalizingly close. "Liar."

Remus bucked involuntarily and whimpered. "Please."

"Tell the truth, then."

"I missed you terribly. I dreamt of you every night. Please."

Sirius complied by licking Remus through the cloth. It wasn't enough. "And the bit about hating me?"

"True, but I loved you still. Oh god, please."

But it stopped there and stepped away. Remus fell to the ground, halfway to sobbing. He extended a long arm to find his wand. This time he got it and managed to whisper "Ridikulus." Sirius' boggart disappeared in a wisp to the wardrobe.

Remus bit his lip. He re-buttoned his shirt, stumbled to his desk and finished grading his papers.

* * *

_Author's Note: That turned out differently than I expected. I was planning on a happier conclusion, but...what can one do?_

_Thank you for reading everyone. I've truly enjoyed writing this._

_Yours,_

_A.A._


End file.
